


roll like thunder

by milkovichh



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ian loves Mickey, M/M, fears, minimal angst just love, talk/implication of past abuse, things are ok tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkovichh/pseuds/milkovichh
Summary: Mickey is afraid of storms.





	roll like thunder

Out of the many things you could call Mickey Milkovich, and there were many, a coward was not one of them. The dark-haired thug was fearless; had a smart-mouth, quick wit and the strength to handle a fight if given one. Mickey was vulgar, had a colorful language and was unafraid to beat people up, wasn’t afraid to show you who he was in the sense that you should not mess with him. 

  It was hardly surprising that he did have fears, though. Call it cliché, stereotypical, but even the toughest and least-willing to admit so had some kind of fear of something. Sometimes, it was huge — massive, common phobias that were very close to being unsurprising. Other times ... not so much.

  Fear was a broad term, thrown around carelessly as another every-day emotion. It stretched as far from a fright to a full-on phobia that chilled people to the bone, so placing a ‘fear’ on that scale was rather difficult. Fear could also be for any reason, whether drilled into the mind by default, even chance, or from a past event, it sunk into the mind and wired to the heart to force an adrenaline made to make people shake, squirm or scream about in the dark hours of the night.

  Mickey Milkovich was afraid of storms. 

 

It was the very early hours of the morning when Ian woke up. Earlier than he usually did, and to a silent house and outside that was grumbling with thunder. The room was dark, the curtains drawn and the door closed to an even darker household. Even with thin walls, not a sound could be heard beyond his own breathing and the hammering of heavy rain on the window to begin with. It took a short while to register that he felt no heat near him: no body pressed near his own, no soft breaths of his gorgeous boyfriend laying beside him, no _Mickey_. This was the very first thing that was off, since once Mickey lay down to sleep, he slept and didn’t move until there was food or another reason to leave the warm sheets of his and Ian’s bed, especially since they lived in Chicago where it could get easily cold in the shitty Milkovich house, draughts creeping under doors and windows that were smashed or else poorly fitted, probably cracks in the wall.

  After running his hand around the bed for a moment, searching for the shorter male just in case he’d only rolled a little way, Ian rubbed his eyes tiredly. He really wanted to get another few hours before he actually had to get up for his morning run, enjoying being positive in a morning even if everyone else was not, but since his manic episodes ... well, Ian had struggled sleeping without Mickey with him. That could have been down to anything, yet Ian was pretty sure it was because Mickey kept him grounded even when he was a thousand worlds away, stuck by him, and sleeping alone meant far too much room to overthink about his disorder. Ian hated thinking about his disorder. What he hated more was when he was not with Mickey, night being the only time they could be together, alone, and comfortable with nowhere to be or nobody to act differently around.

  As he woke up more, sounds became clearer. Thunder boomed in the sky, a flash of light hitting the earth and then the small sniffling sound. Ian slowly moved so he wasn’t laid so on his back, and made out the figure of Mickey sat up, hunched over. Firstly, Ian wondered what was going on. Was he dreaming? Mickey didn’t seem like he had sat up to push himself out of the bed and wasn’t even looking up at anything, simply sat slouched with his shoulders shaking a small amount. Almost unnoticable, if it wasn’t for Ian being extremely interested and confused, even slighly worried.

  “Mickey ...?” his voice came out quiet and rough, thick with sleepiness and probably morning breath. It was low, therefore instantly got Mickey’s attention, who jumped with a start and whipped around to look at the other (through the dark, he could only make out a silhouette anyway), hand shooting up to run through his hair, which was messy and sticking up at the back but flattened at the front.

  “Did I wake you up?”

  Mickey’s voice was different. Aside from sleepy, it was exhausted. Strained, holding a hiccup to the fourth word and a sniff as a followup. If Ian didn’t know any better, he’d guess Mickey had been crying, or laughing. And judging by the situation, he’d place money on the former.

  “No,” Ian shook his head, truthfully. He was sure the echoing thunder had woken him, the flashing lights of electricity that lit up the room and the insides of his eyelids. He sat up, reaching out to touch Mickey’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

  Mickey paused, rubbing under an eye before shoving Ian’s hand away. “Nothin’,” and his lie was ruined as another roll of thunder blasted in a grumble, causing the older boy to hunch over more, shoulders shaking quicker and travelling the shiver down his back.

  “You’re crying,” Ian said stupidly, reaching out again and not being pushed away. He scooted forward to sit beside his boyfriend, eyebrows scrunching in concern.

  Still shaking, Mickey was torn between ‘no shit’ and ‘no I’m not, fuck off’, so instead proved the redhead right by curling up with his knees to his chest and letting out a silent sob into his folded arms. Ian, being the person he was, had little idea what to, since he’d never seen Mickey cry, except for when he’d been manic and he hadn’t registered much when in that state. It was shocking to see such a strong, built-up man fall apart so easily, without any reason Ian could think of.

  “Why are you crying?”

  It took a very long time for Mickey to reply. In that time, Ian pulled Mickey into his arms properly and let the other cry into his chest, still a little perplexed at the abnormality of his whole situation, which still could very much be a dream for all he knew. Though, after two more rolls of thunder and a crash of lightning, Mickey sniffed and his voice came a little weaker. “Fuckin’ storms, man. Scare the shit outta me.”

  Fuck, how was Ian meant to reply to that? He was nothing less of stunned, honestly, brain only working at a very slow pace to begin with anyway. He knew Mickey feared things, though not things like storms or heights or death — Mickey had only ever shown fear towards his sexuality and losing Ian, and aside from that, he was strong. Storms. It seemed like such a little thing to be afraid of, some rain and noise. Though, now Ian listened more carefully to the sounds of the rain and the growl of thunder, he realised that they were sort of threatening. He’d always associated fears of storms to small children, who had no concept of something _bigger_ , but never Mickey. Mickey was always the tough guy. 

  “Storms?” he questioned, and Mickey’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes filling up with tears that Ian quickly swiped his thumb over. A tattooed hand caught Ian’s, squeezing, beginning to move as though Ian had mocked him openly for crying about a storm. “Wait, no, Mick— I’m just surprised. Why do storms scare you?”

  With an eyebrow still raised cautiously, Mickey showed no visible sign of relaxation. It took a moment, but Ian figured nobody had ever known about this fear until now, and Mickey was showing a vulnerability that he had only ever shown to Ian. He was scared that he’d be made fun of and be forced to act strong in a situation that made him so weak. Storms, he had always thought were scary, yet never accepted that. Always saw himself as a pussy. He could go to juvie, jail, do crime and be shot multiple times but a _storm_ frightened him? Bad raising made a man out of a child and Ian saw no other way than that. Kissing the top of Mickey’s head, Ian slipped his hand down so that their fingers intertwined instead of the hold the older had on Ian’s pale wrist 

  Sniffing once more, Mickey’s eyes slowly squeezed shut. Shaking as he relaxed slightly, still tense, into Ian, and the comfort the tall being provided. “Terry. They ... they fuckin’ remind me of him ... and y’know ... the shit he did.”

  Even the name left a bitter taste on the boy’s tongue, for speaking of the man was a touchy topic. He was not a father to any of the boys, nor Mandy, had only taught them how to shoot, how to punch, and how to take hits. It hit Ian like one of those punches of how a storm could remind Mickey, a boy known for his hatred of his father down to the big public scene they’d caused at the Alibi, of his father.

  Fear can be caused by past events ... and this was.

  Mickey’s fear had come from the man he was meant to idolise. His own dad, who had never earned that title by any means, or with any of his kids. He was abusive, crude, disgusting and lazy, and everything the Milkovich’s leant their dirty reputation from.

  “Shit, Mickey ...”

  “The thunder ... it’s hard to listen to. Reminds me of him screaming at us, pissed off his ass. And the fuckin’ lightning,” he flinched, “he used to hit us.”

  This was no news to Ian. He just never knew how much on an impact this had all left on Mickey, who had brushed everything off so well in his life that it seemed almost good for the Southside. Rough and harsh, sure, but managed. It hurt to see that something as simple as the weather could do this to Mickey. 

  “Hey ... listen, Mick ... that piece of shit’s gone, okay? Locked up, and will fucking die locked up. Away from you, away from your family. He won’t come anywhere near you anymore, fucking _ever_. I know I suck at this, but you know that it’s just the rain. Nothing’s gonna hurt you here.”

  Arms snaked around Ian’s middle, gripping tight and hugging the smaller boy to his chest. They stayed like that, too, for a while, just the pair of them and the rain outside while Mickey’s breathing evened out, despite hitching at every wave of thunder, to which Ian only hugged him closer and whispered gentle nothings. It was amazing how easy it was to calm Mickey down with words, since he went out of his way to pretend that strong words didn’t mean shit to him.

  “Wanna go back to sleep ...” he mumbled finally, and Ian nodded, moving slowly to pull the cover back up over them as he lay back down. He wasn’t sure whether he expected it or not, though the next thing he knew was that Mickey was cuddling right up to him, legs tangling and mouth placing a soft kiss to his neck, burying his face in the crook of it. “Thank you ...”

  “I love you.”

  “Fuck off,” was the playful, tired reply, earning a grin from the ginger. They settled, though, and Ian was sure as he was drifting from consciousness that heard a whisper of ‘love you, too’. 

**Author's Note:**

> writing things thst have prolly already been written is my game bc im Unoriginal™


End file.
